BEGINNINGS

Beginning can be easy, but if what one begins is anything other than trivial, following through is usually difficult.

First of all, hi there! This is my first blog post on the first blog I've ever had (as far as I can remember), and I'm excited to share it with you. So much has been said about new beginnings; about how they require courage; about how they signify not only a fresh start, but also the end of something old. Old ways of doing or being that come to an end when the new thing is tackled in earnest. Beginning can be easy, but if what one begins is anything other than trivial—following through is usually difficult.

For me, beginning was as simple as buying an artist's easel (at my lovely wife's prompting) and setting it up in my office. I had dabbled in art for a very long time, and thought that I would always remain a perpetual hobbyist. I would draw and (when the mood struck) produce the occasional painting. Having no easel back then, I would resort to primitive ways of holding my canvas up at the right angle. It would sit on a table next to my desk, leaning against a box or some such thing—with adhesive putty at the bottom to keep it from sliding down. Then, I would mix the few old oil colours I still had from that painting class I did years ago, and try to put paint to canvas using brushes that should have been put out of their misery long ago.

These brushes have suffered greatly.

I was rather proud of my method for keeping unused paint wet while I tried to find the time to paint: I would use the lids of old ice cream tubs as palettes, which I would fill with water and stack on top of each other between painting sessions. All of this paraphernalia would stand around and clutter the house for days or even weeks while I was working on the painting. The whole operation was, of course, a giant schlepp—and as much as I loved to paint, one I would mostly avoid.

I didn't make any lofty New Year's resolutions to start taking painting more seriously; it had little to do with willpower. All I did was buy some supplies and set up a workspace where I could always paint. I stopped the time-consuming and possibly dangerous practice of washing my brushes with nasty solvents after every use; instead, I started dipping them in a mixture of safflower oil and clove oil. This would keep them wet and supple, ready to be picked up and used at a whim. What all this meant is that I could start to fill any available moment with painting—everything was ready to go. And paint I did! Painting itself wasn't suddenly easier; I still had much to learn (and still do), but that unnecessary resistance to just starting was gone. I could paint, fail, learn, and repeat, much faster than before. And so, I started on a journey that would likely never have happened but for a simple piece of equipment.

In the end, I managed to stay with this habit and let it develop into a passion not through any force of will or superhuman discipline. It was only a matter of not standing in my own way any longer.

Published on 12 September, 2023